


Abstract Liquidation Vol.I

by audio1i1monotone



Series: Abstract Liquidation [1]
Category: None - Fandom
Genre: 40s, 60s, 80s, Abstract, Age of Sail, Art, Gen, Sex, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 07:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14950644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audio1i1monotone/pseuds/audio1i1monotone
Summary: This can be considered Ergodic literature, nearly anthological. Please take this into mind when reading. The story will detail the travels of an omniscient being taking their form through time and space, learning and living.





	1. Signated

**Author's Note:**

> Formatting and grammar should be ignored for the most part when reading this volume. The purpose isn’t pure eloquence or grammatical symmetry, it’s for a process of abstract expression.
> 
> Later on, this expression may tune down into a story. At that point I would take into consideration any formatting faults and grammatical symmetry.  
> Don’t ask me where it starts. I won’t say.

     A white canvas envelopes the chasm of my mind. A red door appears. The color symbolizes nothing but staining mutters in the abyss of my window. I walk across the canvas, and as I walk, my surroundings become more nacre than parchment.. it’s iridescence is increasing exponentially.

    The door before me becomes my devisee. The heir to my death and property, but at the same time the chamber opening is the same age as me.

    I open the door, gazing upon a field of festering zoogamy. The whole world has become wretched and vile, obsessed with the physical. I close my devisee, my red door, and turn back.

    A whole entire new field. A world with beings unfamiliar to me. It feels unctuous and unclean to me. Disturbing and revolting. A world of gel, organs, flesh. I am but a being of apodictic cleanliness in comparison to this field.


	2. Paroemia

     These beings communicate through a sort of enigmatography. I can’t understand nor can I traverse the plane of audio. It’s like they have a harelip on their face or a set of two openings but they seem to be combined together. The array of portals I use can’t seem to get a grasp on the visual reality of this world yet, and they can’t see mine.

    The time is swirling in and out, above and around. I finally form in some sort of empty wardroom. I feel depth, weight, and the oppressive force of gravity. The room that I’m contained in seems ripe with xylomantic material, one of my highest professions. I, myself, am my own interpreter, and my template is wood. I lift the hidden lines in the material and read. The forms shift and churn as I force the edges of the material to undergo a form of theriomorphosis that leaves the room with an appearance of moiré and humidity. 

    I have gained my own physical form from the inner readings of the creation surrounding me. Once I have my form, I step outside and soon enough I am greeted with a series of seemingly pysmatic barks and noises. With my habile ability I have learned this level of beings most common form of primitive communication in the time it took me to learn distance and measure belonging to this dimension. The lower art of reading and writing, along with speaking. “Wha inna blam’d nation?!” A gruff voice cried out in my direction. I faced the source of this rhapsodomancy. Or what I thought was rhapsodomancy. I lock the being in my gaze. I think I have contracted the wrong appearance. I can’t be here any longer. I call a fault in the plain’s upper level to disrupt the voyage of this vessel to which I have discovered is named  _ HMS Pearl _ . I’m not sure what that designates directly but it does correlate to the nacre and mother-of-pearl walkway to my devisee.

    I appear in the lastage of the vessel. Once in the room, I set the beings to have a fit of pseudopsia. They can’t detect me in the slightest. I absorb a physical form and it is altered slightly by my aura. I place the removed being into a common object, and send them into the farthest reach underneath the vessel. They will soon become perished. No other being has witnessed this event in the lastage. I change the draping material upon my head to look similar to its original fashion. “This is my hair.” I comment into the empty space in my new voice, my method of prime communications. I’m much too different than the rest of the beings aboard. “This’s mine own hair..” I strain the vocal cords a bit and I sound nearly no different than the being that greeted me first. I now both appear and sound masculine according to the times, which I would venture to guess is around one-thousand seven-hundred sixty-two years Anno Domini. My previously stated hair is silky and clean, it’s color is brown. A dark shade of brown. This is in stark contrast to the other beings hair, which seems to mostly consist of white and ragged material, although it has a slightly soft feeling. My body and sound feels a bit softer than the others. Maybe I’m younger. 


	3. Lazaret

     “My name is Mariot Bouverie.” Once again my changed voice bounces off the walls. That is the designation I have acquired through atmospheric decision, even though in inside consciousness separate from mine has told me it should be  _ Harriet Bouverie _ .

    Mariot is a male designation. Harriet is a female designation. This species and level of beings has a high aptitude for useless classification. The only use I can see, contradictory to my belief, is simple reproduction.

    I climb up the ladder to the main deck, and darkness and rain pour in. It contrasts to the candlelit lastage. It seems the ship is heading the opposite direction it was before, most likely to avoid heading into the center of the storm I created. A barrage of hazy yelling and indiscriminate creaking, rain pounding, slamming noisily on the deck and cold air hit my senses. Bells ring and ropes swing. Chains are clinking together, wheels are turning. The ship moves up and down on the hills created by the waves, easily being tossed. It’s very easy to lose footing on the slick, wooden, xylomantic floor. 

    A lot of time has passed. It didn’t seem that long. They’ve reached a far point in their retreat. “Ho, dothee know whith we art?” I inquire a fellow being. “Wea’ near Block Island. Receive back to’er station, gol!” I get a response from the being, who is currently working on some sort of mechanical device. Seems like repairs. He is covered in sweat and rain, his clothes are nearly ruined. His breath is heavy and his head is bald.

    That should mean we’re about 25 leagues from our destination. Not the part about how he’s bald, the part about where we are and how a storm has changed our direction. I learn more and more about this world as I continue, just by process. I don’t know how I’ve acquired some of this knowledge. It could be a process of pure edit of nonage. That should also mean this event takes place a little bit later than I thought. Around ten years later.

    I change into a calciform, and apply myself to the side of the ship with a disfiguration of a wave or a gust. It is impossible to tell the difference between my human body going viciously overboard and what I have actually done. “We’ve had lost a sir!” The bald headed, stocky man cries out into the ocean that he believes I’ve fallen into. “God beest damn’d..” 

    Emotion. Human emotion is a beautiful thing. I turn my attention to the ondoyant sea horizon. I wave my endless form, almost equally ondoyant. A flurry of darkness and light pass my vision as time is moved. I stop, and allow myself to reconnect to my given form.

    I open my eyes and all I see is darkness. Beneath my body I feel grit and mush. It’s cold, so I assume I must still be in the ocean east of Block Island. I’ve been ripped apart by decomposition and local inhabitants, which is quite unfortunate. After a few flashes of opalescent light in a small radius around me, a circular pattern with intricate detailing, I expunged the issue. I become whole but I soon feel the need for air and lack of such intense pressure. I let my form lift itself up rapidly. My outer form.

I breathe in the air, compulsively gasping and choking. I taste the salt of the brine in my mouth, and it burns at my eyes. I’m becoming more and more like this world. I won’t be able to use my outer form much longer. The idea of swimming to the shore is depressing. It’s around three leagues away. I must have drifted a fair amount to the east. The salt and the sun high in the sky both add pain to my eyes. I rub at them but my hands are as salty as the ocean.

    I decide to exhaust myself and swim to shore, instead of using the last bit of my form. It takes me around five and a half hours of swimming to finally get there. When I fall against the shore onto my stomach, I spot a figure next to me. They appear to be sitting. The drop causes me to grunt in surprise, and a bit of sand is moved up into the air for a moment. “What the fuck?” The man looks at me, a sandwich in his hand. He’s wearing a military uniform of a type I haven’t seen yet. It’s a dark blue outfit with a set of golden buttons, and he’s sporting a white hat. “How the hell did you swim all the way out here?!”

    He stands up and so do I, as I brush sand off of my coat. I’m still wearing the military ordained coat from the Royal Navy back in the seventeen-hundreds. “I fell off my ship, sir. I didn’t know where to go.” He takes a look at me, and assesses my way of speaking, which I’ve altered to a certain extent. He takes a small black device off of his waist and presses a small piece of it down. “Uh.. Officer, we’ve got a seemingly shipwrecked civilian woman of British descent. What do I do?” While he communicates with a box, I take a minute to survey my surroundings. There’s a tan cliff side all around the island as far as I know. Grass at the top, ocean and sand at the bottom. A chain link fence runs across the top of the cliff side, with a small fence door that seems to still be open. I spot an array of large vehicles behind the fence and a small building. I’m quite sure this is a landing strip, and the machines are airplanes. “Hey, lady—“ My neck almost breaks with the speed of its rotation towards the man. He starts to laugh uncontrollably. I’m not sure why he’s making this noise, but it’s pleasing me. I let time pass as no one else comes around. After about half an hour his face contorts in pain, covered in tears from his incessant laughing. He falls over and dies of what I assume is heart failure.

    Death. Human death is a beautiful thing.


	4. Dation

     I bend down, and inspect his lifeless eyes. They’re moist. Was this painful for him? Did he enjoy this? I soon figure out from my devisee, my door, that he didn’t enjoy this. I feel myself hurt in an odd way. Such a beautiful and misguided creature. I want his name as a souvenir. “Sonny William,” a voice calls to me without sound. That must be this beings name. 

    I climb the cliff side, leaving his lone body in the wake of the surf. An abrupt change of my vision rages across my view. A series of dirt and flesh colors, a blur. Time has passed and I have aged. That needs to be fixed soon. I look behind me, and the man’s corpse is long gone. It was most likely removed from the area. The fence is corroded beyond considerable repair. Salt water and time kills metal, it seems.

    My skin has taken on a rough and burnt sort of appearance. The origin of this is most likely soligenous. A nacre form, a ligulate, a strap appears. Invisible to the mortal idea, comprehensible in shape to me, but unapparent in origin. My ailment of time is erased in what I can only describe as a still sitting eternity. 

    I have returned to the mortal, silken body that I originally had at the beginning of this journey. The nacre ligulate in its semi-omniscience, to my own curiosity, displays to me the year. The year is 1999 Anno Domini. After it understands, or I have the idea that it understands I’ve understood, it displays to me the location of my inner body.  _ Nomans Land _ _ Island, Chilmark, Massachusetts _ . 

    The devisee of red and nacre gives me a xystus across the island only I can see. It looks to be intended for me to run. It’s properties and origin are unknown but familiar and secure. I run as I believe is intended, and stop at half a mile in. Only another half a mile remains until the other edge of the island. A mannequin appears, with clothes suiting the time. 

    A very light lime green jacket with large to medium sized white buttons down the right edge of the opening. The edges of the jacket are bordered white as well. Underneath the open jacket is a dark purple colored top with a conservative neck opening. It is embellished with small,  lighter purple half-ellipses. For the bottom half, a simple knee length blue skirt. The shoes are black boots that reach about 1/4th the length of the legs.

    My vision becomes pinpointed and dark, with a haze of light in my peripherals. My vision widens back to normal and the mannequin is wearing my old clothes, replacing its own with mine. I now appear to be correctly dressed. Seems like I can come back and change anytime I like. The xystus fades away around me, leaving me in the center of the island.

     My boots touch the rough brown mix of soil and grass. “These boots seem like they’re meant for digladiating.” I shrug my shoulders for no one in particular. I’m alone here. “Nacre ligulate, do you mind taking me to where you want me to go? I can’t use the last bit of my form so early.” I call my request into the horizon gently with deliberate purpose. My accent has tuned down to a softer, more Welsh accent than English. My hair has changed as well, and not to my liking. I have seemingly randomly colored dreads, which to my recollection is not something of my inner bodies culture. The main color is almost the color of my skin, like bleach. I also have a bent piece of metal in the middle of my nose. A piercing I suppose. Dark makeup on my eyes. It seems like.. I’m possibly endorsing counterculture?

    I blink and when I open my eyes my surroundings are different. My xystus making nacre ligulate has listened to me. 

The town, the area, for some reason I know it’s name. It’s  _ Edgartown.  _ The houses are quaint and colonial. Very family oriented community. It’s coastal as well. The time swishes away from midday to midnight. Crickets chirp, and I hear the waves. Almost no one is on the streets except for my inner body. I walk from the center of the street onto the sidewalk, and take a stroll to understand my surroundings a bit more. I feel something in my pocket, and I take it out. It’s a weapon of some sort. A revolver with a nacre handle, iridescent and pure. It feels heavy in my hand, the assumed reason being it’s loaded. I click the safety on and put it back where it belongs. I breathe in the air, I feel the wind push my hair. Every moment I feel more belonging. I hear my boots walk on the sidewalk. I feel the cool temperature. It’s nearly ecstasy.

    “Hey, babe.” A being a few feet ahead of me, leaning against a wall, calls to me. He’s younger than my inner body, which I would estimate myself being around twenty-two years of age. 

    “Hey.” I respond, walking beside him and taking a place next to him on the wall. Why not treat this being to reasonable interaction? I have nothing to fear. I place my hands in my pockets and rest the bottom of my right boot against the wall.   

   “Shit, you’re just gonna stick around? I could be a murderer or somethin’,” he says. I examine him. He’s no killer, he’s just a delinquent. 

    “I don’t think so,  _ babe _ .” I respond.      

    “You’ve got an accent?” He raises his eyebrows at me. 

    “Welsh. I’m from Wales.” I’m not sure how I knew to say Wales, but from the look on his face I assume it’s a good thing.

    “Well,  _ Wales _ , you gotta name?” He smirks. I don’t know why he does, however.

    “Harriet Bouverie.” This is taking forever to get nowhere. “What do you want, anyway?”

    “How much will it cost for you to have sex with me?”

    Sex? Interesting. “Free, babe. For free.”

A look of ecstatic surprise is instantly plastered on his face. 

    “For free?! Oh shit that’s fucking sweet!” The amount of immaturity and delinquency spewing out of this kid was making the situation vapid.


	5. Innominate ((18+))

     We moved to a secluded spot in the middle of the woods. He led me there himself. “Alright, okay uh… “ the adolescent was stammering. 

    “Shh. I know what to do, baby.” I rested a hand on the male’s cheek. He seemed to get excited. “How old are you, darling?”

    “I’m seventeen. That’s old enough, right?” He would be crushed if I said no.

    “That’s old enough.” I moved my hand to the top of his head, and caressed his soft hair. Humans are delightful. “Lay down for me, hm?” He laid down and started undoing his pants. I knelt down in between his legs, on my knees. “What’s your name?”

    “Jeff Symonds,” he responded hurriedly. “Do you… can you… please choke me a little?”

    “Sure, darling.” I remove his underpants and slide myself over his groin, moving my face just underneath his chin. I place a hand on his throat and lightly squeeze at first. The grass and trees surround us. We’re alone here, and I can do anything I want to him. The thought of him wriggling and squirming beneath me gets me excited.

    I slide my panties to the side underneath my skirt, and I let his member slip into me. I earn a groan from Jeffie and it makes me want to just squeeze him as hard as I can. I move my hips on him, and I squeeze his throat  _ hard _ . At first he enjoyed it, and then he started to panic when I didn’t stop. I felt his amazing squirming body against me. I almost drooled. “Stop, you’re gonna fucking kill me!” He chokes his words as best he could. I keep him without air for a little bit longer and then I finally let him go when he suddenly… started the real process of reproduction. Which I felt course through me.

    He gasps for his precious air while I sit upwards triumphantly. “How was it~?”

     “You’re crazy!“ I could see the beginnings of tears on his face, he coughed, and then my vision was dark red. Time was swung backwards, and then forwards again. I felt as if I was on an interstellar swing. I opened my eyes to see the sun starting to rise on the horizon and I didn’t feel the seed in me. I was standing alone in the forest and Jeff was gone. I moved my gaze down to the earth below me. A puddle of gelatinous substance, organs, and flesh sat in front of me. I knew it was Jeff Symond’s remains when I saw it. 

    My breath still needs to be caught. It’s as if it was just a moment ago. The excitement and the pleasure of it all was too much. I killed him… 

but it felt amazing.


	6. Lockstep

     The nacre ligulate sprang forth in front of my vision in a fit of febricity. “Veneti te videte sommuin.” I spoke in an involuntary unison with the ligulate in a specifically incorrect liturgical language. The reasoning behind its illegitimacy is unknown to me, but it shows much resemblance to proper speech. My vision as it usually is, becomes altered. I see a line of what I should see. Everything I know in this world in which I am starting to become of, is a line. A ligulate. My eyes are the fruit of which the nacre vints. 

    The date is once again displayed to me in eloquent, semi-visible lettering. It’s permeability is only to me as far as my concern carries. June 17th, 1960. It’s around 3 o'clock in the afternoon. It’s hot outside, and it’s humid. The array of letters and numbers from before are both removed and replaced with the location;  _ Baltimore, Maryland _ . I’ve been moved around 130 or so leagues away from my last location. I believe this is the farthest I’ve ever been moved. 

    I am no longer wearing the clothes from before. An image in my head appears of my previous outfit and my Royal Navy outfit on two mannequins, safe on  _ Nomans Land Island _ in the ligulate’s xystus, unknown to the outside eye. It appears that I’m wearing a white shirt with black pants. Fairly simple, I must say. 

    I’ve just realized a pattern;

    My Royal Navy outfit: 1777

    My Counterculture outfit: 1999

What am I doing here in 1960? What’s special about this date? Shouldn’t I be in 1888 at the very least?

    I get a feeling that this area isn’t of good enough significance to my mysterious but familiar nacre ligulate. I’m not sure why, but I do. I blink my eyes and as I see the black underside of my eyes go apart, my surroundings quickly change. I’m floating as if I’m insculped in the dreikanter of space. Nothing around me is familiar, and I can’t tell what my inner body looks like. Pulses of uncoordinated light and gravity react around me. I feel veins. Inside and outside of me, everywhere. I see my eyes glisten and I soon feel like a vaurien in this emptiness. 

    Finally the liquescent space around me forms into an actual reality, but similar to its former state.

I’m in outer space.


	7. Interstellar

~~~~I’m no longer connected to my ligulate. My ligulate is a capillary action within me.

    I have achieved something great just by existing. The being that has taken me where my devisee has wanted to go has integrated to be both a part of me and be me as my own outer body and inner.

    My inner body has taken the form of my 1999 Counterculture body. I’m not dying or suffocating. I feel technology course through my veins. Capillary and vascular. I feel technology as depth, texture, and emotion. I have surpassed technological advances for the most part. I know the date, I see it behind my eyes. My eyes are shining with the promise of progress. Cyan progress. It’s 2162 Anno Domini and I feel amazing. I feel alive and I feel eternal.

    The former random pieces of color in my dreads are now neon and cyan. They glow dimly. I have bracelets on, silver and chrome. Stockings and smaller shoes instead of boots. My shoes are dark grey with neon purple lights. They seem a bit juvenile to me but they’re definitely fitting to what I think this time will be like.

    As I float seemingly goallessly I wonder what’s supposed to happen to me. Will I be hit by a meteor?

    I suddenly notice I have flancards. Armour plates on my thigh of what I can guess is a high iron. Maybe crucible steel or better. I’m not sure of their purpose. Time passes in an inconsistent loop with a direction instead of a line this time. A loop that’s moving forward and going someplace. I see the image of a large spaceship lollop around in the hazes of my far vision. Soon it stops a large amount of leagues away from me, close enough to where I can make out its basic features and some minor details such as the cockpit. I feel it’s technology come towards me, it’s primitive intricacy. My shoes become boots again, but the same color scheme stays. I’m not sure of why this occurs. A lot of changes to my outfit with seemingly useless proportion to any reasonable change.

The ship moves closer to me.

    I could reach out and touch it, the side of it is so close to me. As I float with my back pointing towards what I can only call the bottom of space, and my head pointed towards the ship, I spot a being look at me through a small circular window. His eyes are golden and his skin is that of an African-American. I exchange his gaze with my own, smiling. I bare my teeth while doing so, which for another reason unknown to me, are more similar to that of a shark than a human. I wave, and he waves back to me with a blank expression. He talks but I know he’s not talking to me. He’s talking to another being aboard what I assume is his ship in quick and terse language. I can’t help but wink at him.

He winks back at me, but with both eyes.

    Some sort of thrusters on the side of the vessel I can’t see push the ship so close to me that my side brushes up against it. I see puffs of air shoot out from something inside the ship. Possibly readying for my arrival? A set of four panels in the hull open up revealing a small room, which I assume I’m meant to step into. I grab the upper edge of the opening and drag myself in. The panels close and soon enough I feel the room pressurize to levels near that of Earth. A bench comes up from the floor; and I take the seat against its metallic surface. It looks more like a rectangular prism than a bench. The lighting seems to be a little bit dim in here compared to inside the main confines of the ship, which I can see clearly through rectangular glass panes in the right and left walls adjacent to me. The walls are made of the same metallic material used for the bench.

    The being with golden eyes walks up on my left on the other side of the glass, his hands behind his back. On my right a type of being I’ve never seen before walks up. His skin is like porcelain and silver, if he’s a he. He seems to have a masculine aura so I’ll call him a he. He’s wearing sunglasses over where eyes should be on a human being. He has hair not unlike a human as well. But his hair is styled a bit unusually. It’s sticking up at a bit of an angle backwards, maybe about half a foot in length and black.

    “Hello, ma’am—I mean… if you go by female pronouns… or—“ the alien was speaking to me through an intercom. I stopped paying attention to him as I turned to the golden eyes. “Hello,” I responded to the alien after I thought he was done greeting me.

    “Would you mind letting me out? And yes, I go by ma’am.” My Welsh accent was still present. I spoke to the alien whilst looking at the man. His eyes are considerably spectacular.

    The alien spoke to the man away from the intercom. I couldn’t hear them. But I’m positive I see the man mouth the word “yes.” A door opens on the aliens side, and he moves back a bit to give me room. I exit the chamber, and it closes behind me with a slight hiss.

    “Mind if I take you somewhere to ask you some questions, ma’am?” The alien asked me.

    “Sure, why not?” I’ve got nothing to lose and I can’t be harmed as far as I know. I might as well. The alien leads me down a long corridor lined with a rectangular pane of glass all the way down its right side set in the center of the wall. The view of space is just the same as it was from outside. I pass by many different little fumiducts, machines and apparatuses. Lights, buttons, dials that sort of thing. Doors leading to other sections of the vessel, marked with respective iconography.

    We stop about the seventh or eighth door, which is marked with a very minimalistic globe on the upper half of the door. The alien pushes the door open via a small metal handle that moves only inwards with a click, and I follow. As soon as we walk in, overhead lights whir to luminescent life. A half circle of sofas and a round table sits in the small room. He takes a seat on the right of the red and cushiony seating, and I take a seat on the left, a bit more towards the back center of the seats. I cross my legs, and ask, “So, what did you want to ask me?”

    “Well… first thing’s first. My name’s Alder. Are you comfortable with telling me your name?”

    “Harriet Bouverie,” I grin.

    “Is your hair naturally so blonde?”

    I nod. “Yes, it is. Sort of.”

    “Sort of?”

    “It’s complicated.” I really don’t feel like explaining my nacre ligulate or devisee at the moment. Maybe some other time.

    “Alright… what about your eyes? Same thing?” It seems like a compliment.

    “Same thing.”

    “Hmph.” He’s visibly a bit confused. “Is anything about you consistent?”

     “Certain things. By the way… do you hold any agastopia towards me, sweetheart? You seem to be inspecting me thoroughly.” I smirk and lean my head into my hands.

     “Agastopia? I don’t even know what that means.” Such poor vocabulary. Surprising.

    “Admiration of part of another’s body.”

    “Oh, no no! I mean, not that you’re ugly—like—I mean… whatever, can we please get back to my questions?!”

    “Mhm.” I nod.

    “Are you human, ma’am?”

    “For now.”

    His chagrin is visible. “Okay, these next questions are a little bit personal, but they’re only for the purpose of documentation.” He pauses. “How tall are you and what do you weigh?”

     “I’m 6’1” and I weigh 160 pounds. For now.”

    “And… your sexuality?” He visibly cringes.

     “I don’t have one in particular.”

     “So pansexual? Asexual?”

     “No. I just told you I don’t have one in particular. I like what I like depending on the time and depending on the person, for differing periods of time.”

     “Sorry, jeez… I’ll just put you down as ‘none’.”


End file.
